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metrocentricA very long time ago, when I was first making my way about town, and comparing my experiences with others who did, Hackney would often arise, as a problem. Anywhere without a tube station has this characteristic, but Hackney somehow more so. I'm not being a snob about it, how could I? At the time I lived South of the River.
It wasn't that you couldn't get there - you could; I often did. But it was like enlightenment: there were so many ways to it, and no agreement to be had on which was the best. Anyone who said they knew the ideal route was by definition not to be trusted, because s/he had clearly been subject to a particular strand of belief. Personal experience was no guide: what worked yesterday might not work tomorrow.
Naif that I was, I tried all the ways. The first was my favourite, tube to Bethnal Green, then the 253 up: most of the time a dream, the remainder a nightmare. Some swore by Highbury and then the 30. There were others who went by train all the way, through Liverpool Street, as if they were going to Norfolk. And there were all sorts of ways of using the North London Line, which then consisted of two ancient carriages and existed more in the imagination than manifestation.
But as I remember it, the people who actually lived in Hackney, and made their journeys in reverse order, would have nothing to do with rails at all. They took the bus all the way and they wouldn't hear of alternatives. It was as if time operated differently for them, as is supposed around black holes - Dalston Kingsland as an event horizon, the dark matter of Cambridge Heath.
And even Hackney residents didn't agree. They'd recommend the 22, the 30, the 38, the 55. When I lived in Brixton they said the 35 had been laid on just for me. For a practical joke they'd send you on the 6, and you'd find yourself at Hackney Wick, which is not enough Hackney at all. It didn't help that I could never quite recognise Mare Street: it was a friend I'd miss in the street despite their haircut and clothing remaining unchanged from my last meeting.
I could identify only one certainty in my journeys to Hackney, and it has relevance to the theme of enlightenment, and also to the reasons why I went there. It seemed as if to find Hackney you had to lose yourself. Sober, it was an effort, physically and mentally, travel as travail. It was easier under the influence, whatever route you took. It was easiest when influence was such that you couldn't remember what route you took at all.
It wasn't that you couldn't get there - you could; I often did. But it was like enlightenment: there were so many ways to it, and no agreement to be had on which was the best. Anyone who said they knew the ideal route was by definition not to be trusted, because s/he had clearly been subject to a particular strand of belief. Personal experience was no guide: what worked yesterday might not work tomorrow.
Naif that I was, I tried all the ways. The first was my favourite, tube to Bethnal Green, then the 253 up: most of the time a dream, the remainder a nightmare. Some swore by Highbury and then the 30. There were others who went by train all the way, through Liverpool Street, as if they were going to Norfolk. And there were all sorts of ways of using the North London Line, which then consisted of two ancient carriages and existed more in the imagination than manifestation.
But as I remember it, the people who actually lived in Hackney, and made their journeys in reverse order, would have nothing to do with rails at all. They took the bus all the way and they wouldn't hear of alternatives. It was as if time operated differently for them, as is supposed around black holes - Dalston Kingsland as an event horizon, the dark matter of Cambridge Heath.
And even Hackney residents didn't agree. They'd recommend the 22, the 30, the 38, the 55. When I lived in Brixton they said the 35 had been laid on just for me. For a practical joke they'd send you on the 6, and you'd find yourself at Hackney Wick, which is not enough Hackney at all. It didn't help that I could never quite recognise Mare Street: it was a friend I'd miss in the street despite their haircut and clothing remaining unchanged from my last meeting.
I could identify only one certainty in my journeys to Hackney, and it has relevance to the theme of enlightenment, and also to the reasons why I went there. It seemed as if to find Hackney you had to lose yourself. Sober, it was an effort, physically and mentally, travel as travail. It was easier under the influence, whatever route you took. It was easiest when influence was such that you couldn't remember what route you took at all.
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Date: 2015-01-03 11:57 pm (UTC)I don't know Hackney from beet juice, but I had similar experiences in NYC. I often noted that people did not even know the names of nearby neighborhoods, let alone a route to someplace they didn't habituate. We're usually like rats. We find a trail and then, neophobic, scuttle along our traces from stop to stop.
"All the corners of the buildings
Who but we remember these?
The sidewalks and traces."
-New Killer Star
(Bowie)